


Crossing The Line

by Sensue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherhood AU, Cults, Evisceration, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-14
Updated: 2008-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26002978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sensue/pseuds/Sensue
Summary: Brotherhood AU. A quest to find answers about his heritage becomes a lesson in survival. The much-requested back-story of Duran Hughes, from R.C. James’ The Line.





	Crossing The Line

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: This story contains content dealing with sensitive issues of implied sexual abuse of minor, under-aged drinking, and the very emotional results of each that may not be appropriate for younger readers. Please be advised.
> 
> Author's Note: This story is NOT authorized by Ridley C. James, Tidia, or Williamson Scott. It can fit within the Brotherhood AU timeline, however, this is NOT an official story in the series. I've gone off on my own on this one.
> 
> AU Characters (created by Ridley C. James):   
> Syria Delacroix – a psychic witch who practices voodoo, makes poisoned potions, and can temporarily allow spirits to possess a part of her mind.
> 
> Duran Hughes – A member of the Brotherhood; a pedophile and 'raven' (will set up other hunters, then reap the rewards of the completed hunt after they have done all of the work.) He and Syria are lovers and business partners. Read "The Line" By Ridley C. James for more detail.
> 
> Daniel Elkins – Interim Knight of the Brotherhood. Regarded as insane and paranoid after an attack on twelve-year-old Caleb Reaves. Now, he researches and hunts vampires and demons that are regarded as extinct by the hunting community and The Brotherhood. Also has an armory of supernatural and ancient weapons, such as the Echnon Blade and The Colt. He trained John Winchester as his replacement, before going into seclusion.
> 
> Timeline: Takes place after Dr. Mackland Ames is promoted to the Scholar position in the Brotherhood AU. (Elkins's position as the Knight has become a pretense until a replacement can be found.)
> 
> Ties with "Suitcase of Memories", Chapter 3: My Dad, My Hero By Sensue and hints of "Rites of Passage" By Tidia

_**1986  
Manning, Colorado** _

"Get the hell away from me, Demons!" The old man screamed as he threw a sharpened dagger directly at his target, missing him by only millimeters. The dagger embedded itself in the wall behind it, making the hunter growl angrily. He risked turning to grab a ceremonial athame that was hanging on a plaque on the wall. He swung it at the figure approaching him, grunting in exertion as he lunged.

The man backed away just in time, trying to keep from getting cut. "Elkins, calm down." The doctor spoke softly, trying to get through to the deranged man as if talking to a growling animal. Covertly, he pulled the sedative filled syringe from his pocket, uncapping the needle with one hand as he put the other out in front of him in an attempt to get closer to the raving lunatic. He could only hope that the Guardian could distract him long enough for him to sedate him.

"Daniel, please. It's me, Jim Murphy. We aren't demons; we aren't possessed. Mackland and I are just trying to help you." Jim pleaded with him. "Look, Daniel. We aren't trapped." He pointed towards the devil's trap painstakingly engraved in the ceiling. Clearly, they were outside of its bounds.

"A trick," Elkins screamed, "You're trying to trick me!" He held the knife tightly in his grip, eyes darting from one man to the next. A few seconds later, he lowered the knife slightly.

Ames was relieved to see the man lower the weapon, so he risked coming closer.

"Mackland, No!" The pastor's warning came a second too late, as the athame dug into the flesh of his arm, forcing him to drop the syringe in reflex. The doctor cried out as he pulled away. Elkins took the opportunity to throw himself on top of the doctor in the confusion, knocking him off his feet. The crazed man poised to thrust the weapon down, muttering an exorcism in perfect Latin. Ames struggled under him, trying to tell him that he wasn't a demon as he reached for the dropped syringe. He was only inches away, but Daniel was closer. He pushed the sedative away angrily, pushing it completely out of the doctor's reach…

…And right into Jim Murphy's hand. The older man practically flew as he stuck the needle in Elkin's jugular and pressed the plunger.

Immediately, the knife slipped to the ground with a clatter; Elkins fell in the same manner on top of the Scholar. Ames gave an aggravated grunt as he pulled himself up from under the heavyset man, clutching at his still bleeding arm.

He shot a glance at the pastor, who was trying to catch his breath. "Well, that went well," Dr. Ames said, deadpan.

Jim smiled gravely, "Daniel, like most Knights, has a highly developed survival instinct."

"That is fairly obvious, but the man needs psychiatric help. He's gotten worse, ranting and raving about vampires, demons…don't forget what he did to Caleb. He nearly killed him, Jim." Mac was still upset over his treatment of the twelve-year-old. The Knight researched the Reaves family history and found it tainted by a high ranking demon, one that spanned across generations and left Caleb the only remaining son and heir. His deep paranoia hadn't helped matters, as he targeted the boy and attempted to exorcise the 'demon' he believed was hidden inside of him—nearly killing the child in the process.

Jim sighed, "Daniel is an incredibly stubborn man. He isn't going to accept the kind of help that you are suggesting." Jim ran his hands through his dark hair before handing the doctor a cloth and helping him to tighten it around his injury. "I just wish that Bobby Singer hadn't turned down the position."

Mac breathed as he rubbed his mustache, "Do you have anyone else in mind as the Knight? Harland Sawyer or Dr. Porter perhaps?"

Jim shook his head, "No. Neither of them…" He trailed off mysteriously.

Mac stared at him, "Should I be worried, Jim? I've heard whispers that Elkins has been working with someone new…training him as a replacement per your orders. Are you planning on 'shakin' things up' as Caleb would say?"

The pastor didn't answer but arched his eyebrow at the slang. "Perhaps I am." He stared down at the sedated man, "Is there anything we can do for him here?"

The doctor bit his lip, "There are some advances in psychiatry—new medicines; ones that can control aggression, schizophrenia, paranoid delusions…I'll make a few calls. I have a couple of friends that owe me a favor."

"Thank you, Mackland. I appreciate all that you are doing to help. I know that it's difficult for you…Have you decided to tell Caleb yet?"

A dark expression flickered in the doctor's eyes as he spoke. "No. I'm not planning on it either, Jim. I don't want my son to worry that Elkins might come back to finish the job! He's still a boy; I don't want him mixed up in this."

Jim squinted his eyes at his friend, " _This_? You mean the Brotherhood?"

"Yes…No… I don't know. Jim, you know as well as I do how far Elkin's little _theory_ about the Reaves family has traveled. I'm worried that he'll be a target." Dr. Ames was always an eloquent speaker; always soft-spoken and polite—not easily rattled. This time, he was shaken. "Since you've promoted me—Caleb has taken an interest in researching the supernatural—and I'm worried that the other hunters might get wind of it."

Jim gave the younger man a knowing look. "I suppose that interest has revolved around demons—and their bloodlines?"

"Yes," Mac nodded, "He's starting to look into his family history—he's convinced himself that he's 'tainted', no matter how much I try to tell him otherwise. The more I try to shield him, the harder he fights. He's constantly asking me to teach him about his gifts. We work on controlling them for hours…some days, I can't get him to even take a break. He's pestered Bobby Singer to the point where the man threatened to tape his mouth shut." He gave a small laugh, "If you asked him to do a simple breathing exercise a year ago, he would've thrown a fit. Now, I can't get him to stop…" The doctor gave his friend a long look, "He's only fifteen, Jim. He deserves a childhood."

The pastor clapped him on the shoulder and gripped him tightly. "And you've given him one, Mackland." The older man smiled reassuringly, "Have faith, God has a plan for all of us—including Caleb. It'll be alright, my friend."

Staring down at the disturbed man on the ground, Mac could only nod and pray that his friend was right.

* * *

Bobby Singer could be called many things, but patient wasn't one of them. He glared at the kid that'd taken over his home. The place—while usually an organized mess—was now completely trashed. If it weren't for Jim Murphy's guilt trips, he would've just thrown the boy out there with the pups in the yard.

The gruff junkyard mechanic honestly didn't know how the prim and proper Dr. Mackland Ames put up with the walking attitude without losing his mind. He'd only spent a few hours with him and he was ready to tie him up and gag him until his daddy came to pick him up.

Though his daddy wasn't any better, Bobby huffed. Mackland Ames had always been a bit of an outsider when it came to the Brotherhood. He was an excellent researcher, a brilliant doctor, and one heck of a psychic; but the man's personality was as dry as a piece of toast. He certainly couldn't take a joke—who knew that the doctor would go ballistic when he found his adopted son magically trapped in a closet. The bruise was just starting to fade from his face.

After he'd adopted Caleb, there was a distinct change in the man—one that everyone noticed. The illusion that the doctor was someone weak and easily manipulated started to vanish. Perhaps it was his new position as the Scholar, or simply that he was now responsible for another life that inspired the change, but whatever it was, Dr. Ames was now a force to be reckoned with.

To Bobby, Caleb Reaves was just as mysterious. Here was a teen that had death visions; hell, his entire life was surrounded by gruesome events and he still held himself together. He was a pain in the ass, there was no question of that—but, all-in-all, the kid was strong. Slowly, he was getting stronger.

The kid forced himself to exercise, building his body from an awkward gangly teen to a toned and muscular form. Not only was he getting stronger physically, but his psychic abilities also grew as he did. His ability to 'read' people were slightly less excruciating—but he was getting better. No longer did it feel like the kid took a sledgehammer to your brain, instead you got a small headache for the trouble. The doctor just encouraged him to keep practicing.

And now, the fifteen-year-old charged into his home and demanded answers; one that Bobby knew Dr. Ames tried to keep from him, not wanting his son to become exposed to. Bobby started leading the kid on, giving him books that had nothing to do with his newfound interest in hopes that it would discourage him from his search.

Damn kid was starting to catch on, though. After reading several books cover to cover, Reaves was becoming suspicious. Bobby had to throw him a couple of worms from time to time. Small ones to keep him on task, but nothing that would cause Ames to blacken another eye.

Jim claimed that the boy was trying to 'find himself' and needed guidance. Bobby shook his head—he wasn't a damn shrink! Let the kid 'find himself' somewhere else.

"Damnit, Reaves! That's a two-hundred-year-old text! Don't throw it across the room!" Bobby screamed as he watched the ancient text land with a thump on the ground, pages flying open.

Caleb rolled his eyes, "Whatever, man." He ignored the man and kept on searching for references to Noah Seaver.

Bobby watched him for another couple of minutes, now realizing why the doctor tried so hard to protect his son—the boy was becoming obsessed. His fears were blatant; he was afraid of becoming a demon. Afraid of killing the people he loved…

He was ashamed to say that he also looked into Elkin's theory about the Reaves family bloodline. But he couldn't bring himself to hurting a kid on the basis of someone starting to go bonkers with paranoia. While Elkin's case did make some kind of sense, the Knight crossed the line when he'd tried to kill the boy with no evidence of possession.

Seeing Caleb now, so upset, so afraid of being evil—in his mind, he did the right thing taking Jim and Mac's side.

Even though the brat was driving him crazy!

"I need to know this stuff!" Caleb commented as he flipped through another book.

Bobby arched an eyebrow, "Why's that? So you can mess with your school friends?"

"No." Caleb said, "I want to start hunting."

The kid got offended when he started laughing; he was surprised that he didn't pout. "You haven't started shaving yet, kid. What you need to do is finish your schooling…then worry about huntin'. Leave the hunting to the grownups."

"For once, Bobby's right. You should listen to him, young man." A voice purred from behind them.

Both of them swung around to face the intruders. Bobby relaxed slightly, "Hughes," he nodded to his fellow Brother, "What're you doing here?"

* * *

The newcomer smiled slyly, "I don't even get a 'hello'… well, it's nice to know that I was missed." The man walked in and threw his designer trench coat on a chair. Hughes dressed as if he were walking off the cover of GQ—giving him the air of a powerful man.

Bobby glared at him, "Yeah, I missed you like a root canal. What'd you want?" While Duran Hughes had family ties to the Brotherhood, there was something about the man that put him on edge. To him, Hughes was like a slimy lawyer…one that was out for himself. He'd only worked with him a couple of times, but each time the man left him hanging—leaving him to do all of the dirty work, then claiming the credit. In a nutshell, Bobby just plain didn't trust the man. The Brotherhood was made up of men who helped each other—fought against the evils in the world. They weren't looking for prestige or rewards; they just simply wanted to make the world a safer place.

Hell, if it weren't for the good ol' boys club through the ages, Hughes would be out on his ass. Nobody'd put up with that crap.

Duran sauntered over towards the youth standing next to the older hunter. "How about an introduction? I don't believe we've met…" Hughes held out his hand to the boy. "Duran Hughes. And you are?"

Caleb tensed as the stranger approached him, staring at him with suspicion. There was something off about the guy—something that made him uncomfortable, but he couldn't put his finger on it. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell the guy off, but Mac's lectures on etiquette had been drilled into his mind. Bobby obviously knew the guy and judging by the silver ring sparkling on his finger, he was a member of the Brotherhood. Hughes was a hunter—one that he might learn from…

Bobby sensed Caleb's unease. It was the one thing that he'd noticed right away after meeting the twelve-year-old. The kid wasn't very good at meeting new people—especially adults. Teachers, police officers, social workers, hell, even doctors were glared at, sworn at, and driven into exhaustion and frustration after meeting the boy. Even Mac was pushed to the edge of his limit a couple of times. Jim Murphy seemed to be the only one who hadn't lost his temper with the kid yet. The man seemed to have endless patience and understanding with the teen's attempts to 'test the boundaries'.

Bobby huffed silently wondering how long the old man was going to last…the kid was starting to sniff around the young ladies of the congregation. Somehow, he didn't think the pastor was going to be so _understanding_ when he found out about the make-out sessions in the confessional.

"Caleb, this is Duran Hughes. Hughes, this is Caleb Reaves… Ames' son." He gave the hunter a warning look—as the son of the Scholar, Caleb was to be protected. The Triad was a tight-knit unit—a family. Children were often adopted by the other members of the group. Esme Madrigal was a good example. She might've just been the Knight's daughter, but Victor and Julian spent just as much time with her as her father, Maxim—helping raise her, protect her, and loved her as if she was their own. Anyone of those men would have willingly given up their lives for her.

Hughes dropped his hand once he realized Reaves wasn't planning on taking his hands out of his pockets. "Well, it's an honor… the Scholar's son. I've heard _so_ much about you." The man gazed at the boy, openly staring at him from head to toe as if examining a piece of meat, before devouring it.

Reaves arched an eyebrow at him, "Really? 'Cause I haven't heard shit about you." He pushed Mac's lectures out of his head—he didn't feel like being polite anymore. He was tired of being pushed around like a little kid. He wanted—no—needed to be treated like an adult.

Bobby rolled his eyes; the kid was becoming far too predictable.

"Oh," Duran licked his lips, "Don't worry. You will…" The man gave him a lewd smile, "I think we'll get along just fine." He started laughing, before turning back towards Singer.

"I'm meeting a couple of contacts in town regarding a hunt this afternoon. Jim's assigned us to work together on this one—since you're the expert on demons…" Duran purposely let the sentence trail, a significant pause to let the implication sink in. Hughes hid a smile when the older man flinched, his body becoming tight and tense as his past reared its ugly head. Oh, Singer had tried to hide it and although no one spoke of it, whispered rumors that the hunter had indeed killed his possessed wife were spread like wildfire through the Brotherhood. "I thought that you might be willing to help me with the research."

Caleb stepped back to watch the two men. There was something—primal in their stance. Like two alpha males squaring off into a battle for dominance. He didn't understand what happened—what was said to cause this reaction in his, well, his friend. Bobby might be annoying and sometimes a jerk but, he trusted him enough to consider him a friend.

Subconsciously, Bobby's hand formed a fist. He forced himself to remain calm—to remain in control of the pent-up rage inside of him. It wouldn't do any of them any good—Hughes wasn't worth it. "What do you need my help with?" He grits out between clenched teeth.

Duran let himself feel a moment's pleasure at the man's submission—Singer had backed down, just like he knew that he would—before continuing. "Actually, I think that Caleb might be better suited for this job…"

As the boy's eyes lit up, Hughes knew that the trap had been sprung. It was all about timing…by the time the Triad returned, it would be a done deal. The kid was his…hook, line, and sinker.

* * *

**_Flashforward_ **

Caleb lay in the back of the ambulance, arms wrapped tightly around his chest as he fought to keep from screaming. The EMT was pressing hard against the abdominal wound nearly gushing blood. His struggle ended fairly quickly as another tech prodded the gash along his hairline. "Stop! Ahh. Let me go. You're hurting me." The fear surged a burst of adrenaline, and the teen fought harder against the bonds and the hands holding him to the cart.

"Caleb, my boy, please…let them work." Pastor Jim begged, his hand tightening Caleb's clammy and sweaty hand. "They have to stop the bleeding." The pastor was grateful that the EMTs had allowed him in the back of their cab. He was sure that if it wasn't for Caleb's refusal to relinquish his hand in his colorful language, they wouldn't have allowed him in the tight space. Jim bit his quivering lip as he watched the blood drip down from the stretcher to the floor of the ambulance in small rivers. Closing his eyes, the old man prayed to God, "Please, God. Save him."

Caleb turned his head towards Jim, "Where's Mac?" The words were muffled by both the oxygen mask and the grunts of pain escaping past his internal struggle not to panic.

Jim tightened his hold, patting his hand. "He's coming, Caleb. He's coming." He repeated it over and over until the ambulance screeched to a halt in from of the urban emergency room. The Pastor barely had time to blink before the boy was whisked away to surgery—the need for parental approval suspended by the attending physician as doctors tried to keep the boy from bleeding out from the almost fatal wound.

Once the boy was safely in the arms of professional medical personnel, the old man allowed himself to feel. He stumbled towards one of the chairs a kindly nurse had brought over for him and quickly sat. He moved to wipe at his face but was stopped by the sight of the fifteen-year-old boy's drying blood on his hands. Nausea swept through him and he quickly ran to the men's room to purge.

He sat on the cold tile clutching the porcelain toilet bowl with his hands as if it could provide him with the answers. Jim didn't know how long he sat there—until he felt frantic hands pulling him up.

"Jim! You alright?" Bobby Singer yelled. "Where's Caleb? He alright? You get there in time? I called you as soon as I got the address. It was pure luck that you were on your way back…you were the closest to him."

Jim's ears were ringing at this point. He pulled away from the burly hunter, trying to shield himself from the onslaught of his senses. "Bobby," He put a hand up, "Please…Give me a minute." Walking over to the sink, Jim washed his hands of the blood. The clear water turned red as it drained into the sewers. Once his hands were physically clean, the Pastor filled his hands up with water and splashed his face. The coolness helped calm his soul, and for at least for a while, he'd be able to handle the tests God challenged him with.

He lifted his face and stared at the mirror, Bobby's eyes reflected in the mirror with worry. "Caleb is in surgery. Mackland is on his way." Jim grabbed a paper towel and wiped the water off his face and hands. "Caleb will want to see him when he's in recovery. You know how much he hates hospitals." Jim's voice cracked at the end, and he swallowed hard to keep the tears tingling his eyes from flowing down his face.

Bobby looked at him understandingly, "You think he's gonna be okay?"

"I don't know… He almost bled out, Bobby." Jim bit his lip, fists tightening. "Where's Hughes?"

Bobby's eyebrow arched with surprise at the question. "What do you mean?" His voice rose as the realization that he wasn't with the boy sunk in.

Singer was shocked when the kindly Pastor's eyes hardened into a look of hate. "He wasn't there—he left Caleb to be sacrificed by the cult."

"What!" Bobby's bellow made a couple of curious hospital staff members poke their heads in the bathroom. A harsh glare from both men made them scurry off.

"What do you mean, Jim? Are you saying Duran purposefully left him there? I mean—I know the guy has serious issues, but he wouldn't just leave a kid to die!" Bobby shook his head against the notion. "I mean, he's in the Brotherhood, Jim! He's a hunter!"

"I don't know, Bobby. I have no evidence—just a gut feeling. Bobby, there's something _evil_ about that man."

"Well, I trust your gut more than I trust a book full of facts, Jim. But, it just doesn't make a spit of sense! Duran said that he was just meeting a cult contact. He wanted to take the kid along to show him the ropes. I said 'No way!' Hughes let it go, left without the kid. I told the kid that he wasn't to go! Told him to go to his room when he gave me an attitude. Jim, I know Caleb sunk out and followed him. I mean, is it possible that Duran didn't know the kid was following him? Left thinking that the job was done?" Bobby pulled the cap off his head to rub his hair. "I mean, just leaving the kid there to die on purpose… I can't wrap my head around it."

Jim froze. He hadn't considered that possibility. He supposed that it might be possible…but the likelihood was slim. The man was a hunter; he'd been trained as a child by his father, who'd also been a member of the Brotherhood. Hughes _**had to**_ have known that Caleb had been following him into danger. But, there was something about the entire situation that put him on edge, something making him suspicious. "Do you know which contact he was meeting with? What cult he's associated with?"

Bobby looked down, staring at his feet. "A demon-worshipping one. That's why I told the kid 'hell, no' when he begged to go. I figured that if the members got a whiff of the Reaves' family demon blood…there'd be no telling what could happen to him. I forbid him to go, Jim, I swear. He was just—he wanted to prove himself a man—a hunter. But, once Hughes dangled that carrot; the kid took off."

Jim felt as if he'd aged ten years in ten minutes. "Prove himself a man?" The way Singer had worded the statement made Jim's heart pause in fear. There were whispers of indiscretions, innuendos made by Hughes himself of something sinister in the man. Many hunters gossiped in lurid details of Duran Hughes's relationship with the young Syria Delacroix. The young girl was reportedly found wandering the streets of New Orleans, possessed by multiple spirits that psychologists assumed was multiple personality disorder. They'd tried to lock her up and found themselves poisoned by the voodoo priestess for the trouble. It was said that Hughes, a medium of his own birthright, recognized the spirits within her and helped exorcise them from her mind. The rumors filled in other details, ones that suggested that Hughes _asked for_ and received 'rewards' for his deeds from the barely sixteen-year-old girl; The fact that she was practically a child didn't deter the man from temptation. It was said that he kept the girl for his own use, nestling her, training her in the ways of pleasure and seduction, as well as voodoo and witchcraft from which she was born. It sickened the Pastor to hear the hunters calling the girl a little Lolita and drunkenly say they wished Hughes could share.

He'd also noticed that the young Joshua Sawyer also tended to steer clear of the man. Jim had tried to ask him about it, but the teenager turned red and batted him away. Joshua didn't claim any wrongdoings of the hunter but stated that he just 'didn't like him' and would rather stay away from him. Harland had come into the room and heard the end of the conversation. The boy's father was angry—started screaming that his son was **a man** —going so far as to bring up the fact that he'd caught the boy and his girlfriend coupling in his bedroom as proof, embarrassing the teenager in front of the clergyman. It was then that the rumors became something more for the Pastor. The feeling that they weren't just rumors started to make sense.

Bobby seemed to have a similar thought process as he quickly assured the Pastor that 'nothing happened'. "I just left the room to get a book and when I got back, the kid was red and backed himself into a wall. Duran was _at least_ five feet away from him…I was only gone for –like thirty seconds. They weren't talking when I got back in, but the kid looked like he was crawling out of his skin. If something had happened, Caleb would've fought him…you know that! Plus, I don't see how he'd decide to go with him if…"

Jim took in a deep breath, "You're right, I suppose. We should go…check on Caleb." Jim opened the door to the bathroom and stepped out, Bobby following right behind him.

The pastor had gone up to the front desk for a status report on the surgery when the doors flew open and a harried Dr. Mackland Ames ran in. Both Bobby and Jim were both shocked to see Daniel Elkins and Harland Sawyer follow behind him. For the time being, Jim focused his attention on the panicked father. "Mackland. Thank God you've arrived."

Mac heard his friend's voice and rushed up to him, heart-in-throat. "Caleb?" The doctor asked breathlessly.

Jim put a hand on his friend's shoulder, steering him towards a corner of the waiting room with empty chairs. Bobby and Daniel followed behind closely. Mac fought against the hands pushing him into a chair but was overtaken by another set. Jim nodded his thanks to Bobby before turning back to Mackland.

"Caleb…he's alive and in surgery right now," the pastor was quick to explain.

The hunters watched as the man's face paled. "What kind of surgery? What happened?"

The Pastor took the time to grasp his friend's hand as he explained. "Apparently, Caleb snuck out and decided to follow Duran Hughes to meet a contact. Unfortunately, Caleb was unaware that the contact was a member of the Cult of Azazel. The cult…they tried to sacrifice the boy. They—they strung him up and cut him in order to collect his blood... I'm sorry, Mackland."

While the Scholar sat in complete shock, the Knight's eyes rounded large. "Azazel? That's quite a coincidence."

The doctor's tear-filled eyes flew to meet the other, "What do you mean?"

"Azazel," Elkins started, "is a high-level demon. One of the highest, actually… the cult worships him. They believe that one of his children will be the 'Anti-Christ' that will lead the world to its end."

Mackland had lost his patience, all he wanted to do was to see his son—not to listen to the ramblings of a man who'd—only a couple of days ago—tried to kill him in a psychotic break, believing him to be a demon. "What does this have to do with Caleb?"

"Azazel is the demon who'd possessed Noah Seaver…or so they say." Elkins let the sentence trail, the other hunters now understanding the family history.

Mac's eyes flashed in warning and he jumped out of his chair to confront the man, "You stay away from my son, Elkins! He's not a demon or whatever the hell you think he is! He's just a boy."

The other hunters tensed as they watched the Knight face the Scholar. It was only the calming hand of the Guardian that forced both of them to relax their guard. The Guardian pointedly asked for the others to leave; the Triad had to speak alone.

Elkins nodded, "Perhaps you're right… _perhaps_ , I was wrong about the boy." Elkins licked his lips, "Keep in mind, though, that I might just be right about a few things, Mackland. There are forces of evil out there that you know nothing about. Vampires, for example—they aren't just myths, you know. You should keep that in mind, Dr. Ames. You are the Scholar."

Ames arched his eyebrow, surprised that Elkins had backed down about his son. "And you're the Knight."

Elkins gave Jim Murphy a sad smile before turning toward the new Scholar. "I'm not going to be the Knight for very much longer—and you know it, Mackland."

Ames looked at both men, "I've heard that you've been training someone to take your place." He waited for them to nod before continuing, "You've kept that from me… I don't understand why you've left me out of this decision."

Jim opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Elkins cut him off. "Because it's not your decision! The decision to replace me is in the hands of the Guardian. It's his decision alone!" Elkins snapped at the egotistical doctor. "You are the Scholar—your role is to guide and protect. You aren't the leader. Jim is."

The Pastor quickly regained control of his former Knight. "Daniel, please, calm down. We don't want to start a scene." He patted the man on the shoulder before turning back towards Ames. "Mackland, please…It's not my intension to upset you, but Daniel is right. It was my decision to ask Daniel to step down as the Knight—and it was my decision to have him train Jonathan Winchester to replace him."

Mac threw his hands in the air, angry now. "I don't have time for this, Jim! My son is in surgery after someone nearly eviscerated him! I really don't have time to worry about if the new Knight decides to take after his mentor and try to kill him again!"

Jim shook his head; his attempts to comfort were useless. "Winchester would never hurt a child."

"How do you know that?" Mac snapped. At this point, he wanted to charge into the surgical suite and help the doctors with the surgery—even though it would most likely result in him being kicked out. He had to find out if his son was alright.

"The man has two boys of his own…" Jim let the sentence trail as the doctor walked off, apparently having seen someone that he could harass into giving him information.

Elkins let his eyes trail the young doctor, speaking softly to his old friend. "Hughes led that boy into a trap. He must've heard about the Reaves family ties to Azazel. The cult would've paid him a pretty penny for _the chance_ to drink his blood."

Jim nodded, "I've also considered that… but, I have no evidence."

Daniel Elkins smiled gently, "I don't envy you, my friend. You're too good a man. You won't strip him of his birthright—his ring—until you have proof of his wrong-doings. Just be careful. Don't trust him; his father corrupted his soul. There are times that I doubt he's still human."

A puzzled frown appeared on the older man's face, "His father?"

Elkins nodded, "I know that you don't like to think ill of the dead, my dear friend, but the last Triad—they let more than just their successors down. They allowed themselves to be blinded… what you have to remember, Jim, is that evil surrounds us. You don't like to be told this—but, the hearts of men are evil. I know of at least two or three occasions in which Victor, Maxim, or Julian could've stepped in to stop Hughes from hurting his son; they didn't—allowing the evil to fester within their Brotherhood. And now, the son becomes the father."

"What are you saying?" Jim gasped; his hand flew to his silver ring.

"You know **exactly** what I'm saying, old friend. Each Triad commits their sins—their legacy was tainted by their pride. They thought they were immortal; they didn't train us—they didn't have a backup plan. You're the Guardian, you must guard the future; the way they didn't."

"I refused to listen to this! They were honorable men, Daniel." Jim stepped back away from him, unwilling to taint their memories or their dying legacy.

"Honorable, yes, but they **were** blind." Elkins insisted. "They wanted to believe that their Brotherhood was composed of honorable men, like themselves. They let themselves be fooled… The Hughes family is just as tainted as the Reaves. Their stain isn't blood deep, but just as ingrained. And what makes it so tragic, my friend is that the cycle can be broken; if only someone catches it early enough to stop it. Unfortunately, it's too late for Duran—and his pet, Syria. The man is completely self-serving, immoral, corrupt, and _manipulating_. I feel sorry for Mackland's boy… but, perhaps, it was a blessing, Jim."

"A blessing, Daniel? Caleb is in surgery! He was almost killed!" Jim was astounded at his friend's thought process.

Elkins' eyes were cold, "Yes, and if he lives—he'll have learned a very important lesson."

"What lesson is that?" Jim asked.

"That no one is to be trusted—not even a 'Brother'." With that said, the man walked away to join Bobby Singer and Harland Sawyer across the hall, leaving Pastor Jim to stare after him sadly.

It was a sad day, Jim realized; It was hard on him to accept, but everything Elkins said was right. They couldn't allow the past to determine their future—they needed to focus on a new one. The previous generation had made their mistakes, and the Guardian was determined to learn from them.

_The past was to be remembered, the present to be lived, and the future to be protected._

* * *

Dr. Ames paced the hallway leading to the surgical suite. The doctors refused to let him in—and to some extent; he understood why they wouldn't let him in. There was no way that he was capable of operating on anyone, non-the-less his son, in the near future. His hands were shaking in rage and fear, his face was pale and he could barely catch his breath.

When the surgeon finally opened the door, Mac thought he'd collapse right on the spot. It was only after he saw the corner of the doctor's eyes smile through the surgical mask that he relaxed. "Dr. Ames, the surgery was a success. Your son is still in stable condition, and barring any infections or complications, should make a complete recovery. He's a very lucky boy. We'll have to set him up with the blood lab, urology, physical therapy, pain management, and radiology departments…he's looking at a long recovery. He's going to be here for at least two weeks."

Mac let out a breath in a huff, "Thank you." Once he'd gained his momentum, he practically grilled the surgeon about every detail until the man tore himself away to check in on another patient. He'd let the worried father in recovery sit by his son in hopes that it would prevent the famous neurosurgeon from attacking his staff about their every move.

He'd walked into the recovery room after putting on the sterile gowns and gloves, then almost cried as he saw his son. As a surgeon, he knew the medical equipment like the back of his hand. The sheer amount attached to his son made him gasp in horror. He'd been expecting the worst; he knew that the wound would have to remain open in order for it to heal from the inside out. He knew that shunts would be placed in order to drain the fluid from the inflammation. He knew that his son would be pale—that he'd lost nearly a third of his blood on that altar. Caleb had to be given transfusions; multiple lines coming from his arms and from his chest were giving him the fluids necessary for life: cross-matched blood, saline, diuretics, antibiotics, morphine, and anti-histamines needed to be administered to keep his body from reacting to the trauma it had sustained. He also knew that his boy would need to be kept immobilized. He assumed that they would tie him down, to keep him from moving and ripping out the stitches holding his insides together.

He knew all of these things, but it didn't help. Mac pulled up the chair closest to him, fearing that if he didn't sit, he would faint. He covered his mouth with his hands but was unable to keep the cry silent. A nurse noticed, and walked over with a box of tissues, wordlessly handing it to the doctor. She kindly gave him a comforting smile, reminding him that his son would be alright, before checking his vital signs. She wrote them down, then went to check on her next patient, keeping the small family in her sights in case they needed anything.

Mac let the tears roll down his cheeks; this was what he feared. He didn't want his son associated with his business, the Brotherhood; he never wanted to see him injured on a hunt. He didn't want to worry about a ringing phone or a page that his son was dead. He fought to keep Caleb safe—but, the boy fought him tooth-and-nail. His son wanted to be free—wanted to know where he came from and wasn't an innocent about the horrors of the supernatural world have learned it quite early on as practically a baby. And most frighteningly, he wanted to be a hunter.

He wiped at his face with the tissues, calming himself down. He couldn't help Caleb if he were a sobbing mess. Mac sat beside his son for a few minutes before asking the nurse if he could use her phone.

She quickly handed him a handset and left him to make his call. For the longest time, Mac stared at the phone…wondering exactly how he was going to explain what happened. Slowly, he dialed the familiar number and waited until his father picked up.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end greeted.

Mac closed his eyes and forced himself to swallow at the lump lodged in his throat. "Dad? It's Mackland. I—uh—I need you to come to ECMC hospital as soon as you can…"

"Are you alright, son? Caleb?" Cullen Ames was quick to jump to conclusions at the devastating sound of his son's voice.

"Caleb's…been hurt. He was cut up by…gang members. He's in recovery now. I just wondered if you could bring us both a bag of clothing, and…uh… Caleb has a book. It's on his dresser—It's the-."

Cullen cut him off. "The Three Musketeers. Yes, I know it, son. I'll bring it. I'll be there as quickly as I can. Are you alright?"

Mac nodded, still wiping at his eyes, "Yeah. I'm fine. I'm not hurt."

"Alright, son. I love you. I love Caleb. I'll be there… tell him to hold on. Alright, Mackland? You tell that boy that he's not getting away from us that easily!"

Mac laughed brokenly, "Yeah, I will. Love you too…"

He hung up the phone with a heavy heart, waiting until his son regained consciousness. He knew that it would be best if the boy slept for a while—he didn't want him to wake up in pain, afraid that he was back in the hospital where they'd first met. The restraints weren't going to be handled well, Mackland was afraid. He knew Caleb would panic, try to pull away from the bonds, and inadvertently rip his stitches.

The doctor let his hand rest against the long dark hair, letting the strands tangle in his fingers. He'd been on the teen to cut it, but had been ignored. Caleb argued that it was the current hairstyle and Mac had agreed to let him keep it long.

Cullen had been true to his word, striding into the recovery room less than a half-hour later. Mac turned just in time to see the old man falter and ran to keep his father from falling. He felt the older man shake as he stared at his grandson; Cullen was unashamed of his tears as he gripped his son tightly to his chest.

"Oh, God, Caleb. Mackland, is he alright?" Cullen choked out as he sobbed.

"He'll be fine… as long as we keep an eye on the wound—make sure there's no infection…he'll be fine." Mac repeated this over and over in his mind; hoping that if he said it, it would be true.

"You say a gang did this?" Cullen was incredulous. "Where are the police? Did they catch them? What kind of animals do this to a boy?"

Mac shook his head, trying to calm his father. "No, I don't think they have yet… We might have to wait until Caleb's awake. Perhaps he remembers some of them."

Cullen's eyes widened, "Did they? Did they … _hurt_ him?"

Mac seemed to realize what his father was asking and quickly reassured him, "No. They just felt the need to cut him open and hang him from the rafters."

"Why Caleb?" Cullen asked. "How did he get into gang territory?"

It was that question that made the father pause. It was a very good question indeed. One that he wanted to know the answer to.

"I don't know, Dad. But, I'm going to find out." Mac stood up and walked over to his son. Leaning over, he put a gentle kiss on his pale forehead. "I'll find out, Caleb…" He promised his son. "I love you."

Once he straightened, he asked his father, "Dad, could you please stay here with Caleb? I need to talk to someone… he should be asleep for the next few hours. I'll be back before he wakes up. Okay?" Mac waited until his father relinquished his chair and sat beside his grandson. Cullen wrapped his hand around the cold fingers and started talking to the boy, knowing that he'd be able to hear him and know that he was safe.

Mac was at the door before when he heard his father call him.

"You find out what happened, Mackland. Caleb deserves better… the people who hurt him need to be punished. Just—find them."

"I will."

The doctor walked out the door with a purpose. He would find out what happened—and there would be hell to pay.

* * *

Pastor James Murphy left word with nurses to inform Dr. Ames that he and the other men were going to go get some rest and to call if they needed anything at all. The older man had planned on waiting until Caleb woke to leave, but the need to track down Duran Hughes won out.

He'd sent Bobby Singer and Harland Sawyer to track down the missing hunter. Jim had searched through the cult complex, weapons at the ready as he searched for the hunter and the missing boy. Bobby had called him the second that he realized that Caleb had snuck out, telling him that he was heading into danger. Jim had already been on the way back, leaving Mackland to manage Elkins—now that the man had been drugged into compliance. It was by God's grace that he was only ten minutes away from the complex. Bobby was an hour out and there was no one else in the area that would be able to help.

He'd gone through every inch of the place when he'd finally entered the altar room. The room was filled with masked men chanting as the 'leader' sliced the boy through the belly. The men were cheering as the teen's blood filled their challis. The leader drank deep from the cup, blood dripping down his face. He didn't even feel the bullet as it entered his brain, blood and grey matter splattered the wall behind him. The remaining members quickly abandoned their now dead leader and left the boy to the gun-wielding pastor.

Jim ran to the boy, quickly releasing the bonds that dangled him from the ceiling and let his legs touch the ground. As soon as his feet touched the cold concrete, Caleb's knees had folded and it was the pastor's hold that kept him from landing on his open wound.

Caleb had been so brave, trying not to cry out as the blood gushed from his belly. He tried to breathe through the pain, but it was so painful. He called out to his father many times—wanting to be near the man who would die to protect him, the man who'd taken him into his home, and loved him as a son.

The ambulance had been called. What felt like a million years later, the police and medical staff rushed the building. They looked around the room, with its altar, the occult symbols painted on the wall, and had promptly called the incident a 'ritual sacrifice' unknowing how true their assumption was.

Since the leader had been killed, the police focused on finding the followers. They had assumed it to be hopeless since the members had all been wearing robes and been masked. Their resources didn't cover the supernatural or the occult, so they called in a special FBI taskforce for help.

Throughout the ordeal, Jim had called Mackland, Bobby, Harland for backup in locating the missing hunter. He had feared, in the initial attack, that the hunter had been captured or killed. Upon further infestation, it was discovered that Hughes's car was seen leaving the complex about ten minutes before Caleb had been…hurt. There had been a gas station nearby with a surveillance video feed. The car had clearly passed the station with no one following.

He'd gone back to Bobby's for some sleep; the others would call him once Hughes was found. He hadn't slept since the unexpected trip to Elkins' cabin. His energy had been taxed by the psychotic Knight—he'd used all of his patience, kindness, and wit to outsmart the man. Once Mackland had readjusted his psychiatric medications, Daniel became a little easier to handle. It had taken a couple of days before his system had gotten used to the drugs, leaving him a rational person once again. He'd left the man in the doctor's capable hands once he'd judged the storm to have passed. He'd hoped that Winchester would make an appearance—he'd wanted Elkins to introduce the man to Dr. Ames. Unfortunately, the new hunter was busy with his family and wasn't able to make it to the cabin. Apparently, the baby had an ear infection and had kept the small family up all night crying in pain. John took the baby to a doctor and was waiting for the antibiotics to kick in.

It only took a couple of hours for Singer and Sawyer to track down the missing hunter. He'd been shacked up in a motel with his young companion. They'd brought both of them to the Salvage Yard—practically dragging them back. Hughes acted innocent—said he didn't know what was happening. Didn't know why everyone was so upset.

"What's going on, gentlemen? Syria and I were just called on another hunt—the longer we are detained the more lives that are in jeopardy. You know that." Hughes complained.

Jim listened to the man, trying to see through the act and wasn't able to. He was still unsure… he couldn't punish the man if he honestly didn't know the boy had followed him.

Stepping forward, Jim questioned the hunter. "Did you know that Caleb Reaves was following you into the complex?"

Hughes' eyes widened in shock. "No! Why?" He put a hand on his chest in surprise. "Did he follow me?"

All of the hunters were on edge, not knowing what to do. They were suspicious, but there was no obvious motive for him to leave the boy to be sacrificed.

Bobby huffed, "Yes. He did. And he nearly died at the hands of that cult of yours, Hughes! He's in the hospital—they're trying to put him back together after they cut him up!" Bobby was angry; he had a hand on his shotgun. He was itching to pull the trigger. No matter what the slimebag said, he didn't believe him.

Hughes shook his head, "I didn't know. You told him yourself, Singer, that he wasn't allowed to come. If I remember correctly you grounded him until his father returned! How was I to know that he'd follow me?"

Bobby got in the man's face, "Oh, you knew! You were manipulating that kid—whatever you said to him, whatever freaked him the hell out… you got him to follow you! The only thing I'm trying to figure out is what was in it for you?"

Hughes pushed the older hunter hard, making the man grunt. He straightened his designer jacket, pulling at the lapels, before straightening. "I have no idea what you are implying—perhaps you wanted him to go… after all, he was in your home—throwing your precious books around. How are we to know if you just threw him out?"

Bobby grabbed the man by the throat, intending to choke him to death. "You son of a bitch!"

Harland grabbed the capped hunter and struggled to pull him back away from Hughes. "Singer! Hold on a minute! Hughes got a point. The kid did run off on his own. Does it make it Duran's fault? Weren't you supposed to be watching the kid?"

Mac entered the room quietly, hidden partially in the shadows. "Yes, Bobby, please explain. Weren't you supposed to be watching my son? Protecting him?"

Bobby flew around, swinging to face the doctor. His face was pale as the Scholar accused him. "Mac, I –I'm sorry. I tried. The kid—just—he snuck out."

"Why? Why did he sneak out? Was he upset?" Mac's chest was heaving with stress. He wanted to know what the hell happened.

Bobby stared at the ground. Hughes stood tall, staring directly at the new Scholar. He spoke, words drilling into the doctor's mind imprinting themselves into his memory forever. "Caleb was upset with you. He was angry that you and Jim were sneaking around with the man who tried to kill him."

It took the wind right out of his lungs, making him feel as if he'd been kicked in the groin. "What?"

Hughes gave them all another innocent look, "Well, I didn't know that it was a secret. The boy had been complaining that he was stuck at Bobby's until his father returned. I just reassured him that you would be back as soon as Elkins was…feeling better. The boy got angry—said that I was lying to him. He 'read' me and got upset…he knew that I was telling him the truth. What can I say, the truth hurts."

"You set him up, didn't you?" Bobby demanded from across the room.

Jim closed his eyes; everything inside of him wanted to strip the man of his Ring. To excommunicate him from the Brotherhood. If it weren't for the fact that Caleb had snuck off without telling anyone where he was going, he could've blamed the situation on Duran Hughes. Unfortunately, the story that Hughes was spinning had a hint of truth. It was like the teen to jump head first into trouble—much to the disappointment of his father. Even if Hughes had set him up, as Bobby suggested—there was no way to prove it. There was also no way to prove the man had purposefully left the boy to die. Protecting innocents was one of the vows they'd all taken in joining the Brotherhood.

"You're to leave this house, Hughes." Murphy ordered. "I don't want you anywhere near that boy—ever again. Get out!"

The man straightened, then nodded. "As you wish…" With that, he left the room practically gliding out the door happily.

Bobby went ballistic. "Jim! That man's trash! You know he set up the kid. Why didn't you take his Ring?"

Jim stared at the men in his command. "We don't have proof. We can't let rumor and reputation judge and decide a case—Hughes is to be watched. If there is a reason to warrant his removal from the Brotherhood, I want the evidence."

Mac still looked pale, and sat down heavily as Bobby continued his rant. "He's a psychic! Are you telling me that he couldn't sense that the kid was around?"

Harland had walked into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. He sipped at it as he debated the salvage yard owner. "He's a medium. He talks to dead people. It's not like he's a mind-reader like Mackland's boy."

Mac's head shot up, glaring at Sawyer. "His name is Caleb!"

Sawyer lifted his cup towards the Scholar, "Sorry. 'A mind-reader like Caleb' then. I mean, if the kid can read minds, shouldn't he have known that they'd kill him if he followed them?"

Mac jumped off the couch, defending his son. "He's still learning."

Harland countered, "When my son was his age, he'd already gone on his first hunt! He'd taken down a vengeful spirit practically on his own. I mean, come on, Mac. How long are you going to baby the kid?"

Mac stepped closer, and Jim yelled, "That's enough! All of you." It was loud and forceful enough that everyone turned to face their leader. "Caleb has been hurt. A member of our ranks may or may not have led him into danger. Caleb needs our prayers and understanding. He does not need us arguing amongst ourselves. Duran Hughes is still on of our Brothers. We all have our suspicions about him… but, unfortunately, it's not enough. We have all made mistakes this day," he stared at Bobby, at Mac, and at himself, "and Caleb has paid the price. Make sure it doesn't happen again." It was an order.

Everyone nodded.

Slowly, the room began to clear, leaving Mackland and himself alone. The pastor sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of the shocked man.

"Mackland, this is not your fault."

The doctor lifted his red-rimmed eyes and stared at his friend. "Yes, it is. I tried to protect him by keeping things from him… someone used that information against him and he almost died. He died because I was too busy trying to help the man who almost killed him." The words Hughes had spoken echoed in his mind.

Jim took in a deep breath, "No. You can't think that way. It was all of us—the Brotherhood. It's our duty to protect the innocent. We failed to protect Caleb. I promise you, Mackland… I'll pull our resources into tracking this cult down. We'll find them."

Mac nodded before standing up, "Yeah, you're right. We failed him." He got his coat and went towards the door. "I failed him. But, I'm not going to fail him again. I'm going back to the hospital before he wakes up…"

"Let me know if you need anything."

"I will." The door shut closed behind him and the turn of an engine sounded throughout the night.

The pastor sat there staring into space until Rumsfield walked into the room, demanding attention. As the older man stroked the dog's soft fur, the weight of the future pressed a little harder on his heart.

* * *

Once the doctor returned to ECMC, he checked in with the desk to discover that his son had been transferred to the ICU on the sixth floor. He walked into the elevator and strode over to his son's room. He wanted to go home, take a shower, sleep for a million years—his son sleeping in the room next to his, safe, healed, and happy again. But, he couldn't.

He checked in with the nurses' station, asking for Caleb's chart, and examined the latest set of tests and vitals. Caleb was mending, albeit slowly. He'd been surprised to see his father walk past him, a cup of coffee cradled in his hands.

"Dad?" Mac called out to him. "You okay?"

Calling his name seemed to jar the old man out of his daze. "Mackland? You're back."

"Yeah, dad. I'm back. You alright?" Mac put a hand on his father's shoulder.

Cullen Ames seemed older somehow, the stress of worrying about both his grandson and his son aging him within a day. "I'm just tired, son. How are you? Did you find the men who did this?"

"I'm fine. Tired too… and no, I didn't. I stopped by the police department on the way. They said they had a couple of leads." Mac was frustrated at the lack of information the police provided and felt that they'd just told him things that he'd wanted to hear. "How's Caleb?"

"He's still asleep son. I just went out to get some coffee while your friend stayed in the room to watch him." Cullen said as he sipped at the hot slug-tasting coffee.

"My friend?" Mac asked quickly, his body already moving towards the ICU door.

"Yes, that older fellow. Said he met you shortly after your accident." Cullen became afraid after his son paled even further and his eyes filled with fear. He went to find security, afraid that the man he let into his grandson's room was going to hurt him.

He ran to the door and pulled it open, letting the door hit the wall with a thud. Elkins was sitting beside his son, a hand on the teen's hand. Elkins' turned towards the doctor.

Mackland quickly grabbed the man by the shirt and shoved him against the wall, physically keeping him away from the boy. He reached for the gun that was tucked in against his belt, wanting to end the man.

"Dad…"

A soft voice stopped his attack. Elkins pushed him away.

"If you'd let me explain, I would have told you that your son is awake," Elkins spoke condescendingly.

"What did you do to him?" Mackland demanded. He walked back over to his son and gently placed a hand on his forehead, comforting him as he slowly woke. He checked the monitors, Caleb's vital signs were stable. He was alright.

Elkins looked slightly hurt by the assumption. "I didn't do anything… I told you—I'm out of the Brotherhood. The decisions you make or don't make—they're on you. I don't want anything to do with it anymore. I hunt alone from now on. Winchester'll take over now. He's almost ready anyway. Might as well throw him into the fire. He's a Marine; he's used to being thrown in the fire." The man spoke as if he were talking about something else that Ames didn't understand.

"Then what are you doing here?" Mac whispered.

"I wanted to give him something…" Elkins palmed a strange metal in his hands. It had a black cord, and Mac assumed that it was something that was to be worn.

"What is it?" Mac asked.

"A powerful amulet." Elkins held out the amulet; it was strange—some kind of bull-man. "To protect him from evil. Keep him safe."

"Why would you give it to him?" Mac took the chain from the ex-Knight.

Elkins looked at the boy, "I've done many things that I'm not proud of, Mackland. Perhaps, this is my way of making amends." He nodded towards the amulet, "You don't have to tell him that I gave it to him…"

Mac stared at the protective charm then at the other man. "I'll tell him the truth. I'm not planning on keeping secrets from my son anymore. I've discovered that it does more harm than good."

"Yes, you're right about that." Elkins agreed. He started walking out the door, then paused, smirking. "Good luck with Winchester—you'll need it."

Mac arched his eyebrow at the warning but said his goodbyes.

He righted the chair to its legs from where it had fallen and sat down next to his son. Slowly, Caleb became more aware of his surroundings.

"Mac?" The boy called out, again.

Mac rose, leaning over the boy as he put both of his hands on his shoulders in hopes that it would distract from the restraints. "I'm right here, son." He felt the muscles under his hands relax and the monitors slowed slightly as Caleb went back to sleep.

The door opened and Cullen walked in, the security behind him, worried. "Is everything alright?"

Mac stated matter-of-factly, "Everything is fine. It was just a misunderstanding." He reassured the security that everything was alright and they left the family alone. "I thought he was waking up."

Cullen came over and sat in the abandoned chair. "He's been doing that off and on all night, son. He's not quite awake yet."

"He's calling out to me," Mac said in wonder.

Cullen patted his son's hand, "Yes, he wants to feel safe—you are the person who makes him feel safe." The grandfather watched the emotions flicker across his son's face. "Son, what are you thinking?"

Mac bit his lip, then swallowed. "You know, I've made so many mistakes. I've thought that I was doing the right thing—trying to protect my son. Instead, it backfired." Mackland ran his hand over Caleb's forehead. "He got hurt because of me—because I lied to him. He was angry and he rebelled, and he just ended up in the wrong place and the wrong time."

"How does that make it your fault, son?" Cullen was confused.

"The more that I try to shelter him, the more danger I put him in. He doesn't need me to hide him; he needs me train him, but I don't think that I can. Not when everything inside of me wants to protect him, keep him from getting hurt." Cullen listened to his son, not really understanding what he was saying, but knowing that his grandson was special—as special as his father.

He was hesitant to make a suggestion, "Maybe, someone else should train him instead… someone that you trust."

"I'll think about it, Dad." The doctor took in a deep breath. He stared at his father, who looked as if he were going to fall asleep on the chair. "Dad, why don't you go home? Get some rest?"

At first, Cullen looked as if he were going to argue, but stopped short. "Alright, son. I'll go. But, I want you to get some sleep as well. When I get back in the morning, I'll stay here while you get some rest. Do we have a deal?"

"Okay. We have a deal, Dad. Goodnight." Mackland hugged his father before he left for the night.

He sat in silence for a while, then picked up the creased book laying on the nightstand. He stared at the cover, running his fingers along the embossed title, The Three Musketeers. It was the same book he'd given his son the first night they'd met; while it was moderately used, it was still taken care of. He opened the book to the page that was bookmarked with the deuce card from Caleb's childhood.

Clearing his throat, he began to read where his son had left off.

" _ATHOS HAD INVENTED the phrase, family affair._

_A family affair was not subject to the investigation of the cardinal; a family affair concerned nobody._

_People might employ themselves in a family affair before all the world._

_Therefore Athos had invented the phrase, family affair…"_

* * *

_Caleb's senses suddenly flooded with sensation. Unfortunately, the sensation that stood out was pain. A small moan escaped his lips, at the moment when he realized that he could make noises. Slowly, he became aware of other sounds in the room, a constant, yet rhythmic thumping, liquid dripping, and the soft snores of his father._

He opened his eyes, grimacing as the light burned into the back of his eyeballs. He clenched them shut quickly before his head could explode. "Dad?" He called out.

"Caleb?" Mac woke suddenly, grasping his hand tightly within both of his. "It's okay, son. You'll be alright. You're in the hospital."

Suddenly, the boy gasped, remembering the events that had happened. "Oh my god. Dad. They—they wanted to drink my blood. They said that I had demon blood and they thought if they drank it they'd get my powers. Dad—Dad…" The boy started to struggle, then nearly panicked when he realized that he was tied down to the bed.

Mac moved his body so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He quickly placed his hands along his son's arms, trying to calm him. "Caleb…It's alright. Just calm down, take a deep breath. You were hurt badly, Caleb. Your abdomen was sliced open, son. You almost died. The wound isn't closed…you're being restrained so that you don't pull at the surgical incisions as they heal." He wiped the boy's eyes as the teared. "Shh… just calm down now." He noticed the morphine pump activate at the increased heart rate and blood pressure, shooting a dose of pain killer in the IV line. It worked quickly; Caleb slowly relaxed as its sedative effect took hold.

"What's going on? What'd you give me?" Caleb muttered weakly.

"It's morphine, Caleb. It's set to an automatic pump; it gives you a dose if your vital signs rise above normal, in case you're in pain." The doctor gently explained.

"I'm okay, though?" Caleb looked down. The bandages covering his belly were blotted with blood and he could feel a strange sensation through his lower half.

"You're going to be fine, son. It's just going to take some time. You need to heal." Mac slowly moved his hands away.

Caleb's voice shook as he begged; he ineffectually tried to pull at the bonds. "Please, get these off, Mac. Please? I'll be good. Please, dad."

"Shhh, son, shhh. I can't pull them off yet. If you move, you could open the wound up again. You were in surgery for five hours…"

"What'd you mean?" Caleb whimpered, breathlessly. His hands trembled as the adrenaline rush from his panic flooded through his weakened system.

"Caleb, they haven't sealed the wound, son. There's a drainage tube implanted in your abdomen. It's helping the cut heal from the inside out, Caleb. You also have a central line in your chest that's delivering another unit blood to your heart. You lost quite a bit of blood, son. You also have a balloon catheter in your bladder that's helping clear the blood, urine, and waste from your body. You'll feel a slight pressure down there for as long as they keep it in. Of course, all of your fancy IVs in your arm are for fluids and nutrients, as well as the morphine." Mackland tried to explain everything to his son, hoping that he would understand why he couldn't release the restraints.

Caleb whimpered for a few more minutes before relaxing completely; the morphine was kicking in. He pried his eyes open to make sure that his father hadn't left him.

"I thought I heard voices before," Caleb mentioned off-hand. "I didn't recognize the voice, but you were fighting."

Mac swallowed but answered the teen. "It was Daniel Elkins. He'd come to visit you—wanted to give you something." He waited to see Caleb's reaction, assuming that the boy would be frightened or start panicking again.

"What'd he want to give me? Another knife in the gut?" Caleb's response was cold. "Or were you going to help him, Mac?"

"That was uncalled for, Caleb…" The doctor was tired; he didn't want to argue with the boy. He wanted to hug him and never let go.

"You and Jim were working with him. He's the Knight! The man who tried to kill me was in the Brotherhood—and you never told me. I had to hear it from that disgusting bastard."

"I'm sorry, son. Please, forgive me… I was only trying to protect you." Mac pleaded with his son. He never wanted to hurt him.

"I do forgive you, Mac. I mean, it's not like I've never lied to you…" Mac's eyes grew wide at the confession, "I just—I just wish you would've told me—instead of that asshole Hughes."

Mac sat back, uncomfortable with the silence. "Caleb, did Hughes know you were following him? Did he purposefully leave you there to bleed out?"

Caleb withdrew from the questioning; his eyes became shuttered. "I don't know… I'm tired, Dad. I'm going to go back to sleep."

"Caleb…did he touch you?"

Caleb just closed his eyes, "No," he answered—then ignored the world as he fell asleep, leaving his frightened father to his nightmares of what might have happened.

"I love you, Caleb," Mac whispered against his ear.

"Love you too, dad," Caleb whispered back.

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't finish "Crossing the Line" the way that I'd originally intended. And with all of the controversy, I lost my muse and my will to continue with it at this point in time…but, I still wanted to write an angst-filled conclusion. So, here we are.  
> The earlier warning is still in effect. "IMPLIED" sexual assault and abuse of a minor.


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